CHAPTER SIX
WINTER
Winter’s brow rose as Sterling’s gaze held his, her face red with fury. Her lips parted, most likely to call him a bastard, but she seemed to think better of it. She whirled around and darted away from him with practiced agility.
The front door slammed against the wall as Sterling took off into broad daylight. Winter chuckled to himself and scooped the red cloak off the floor. When he caught her, she would be paraded through town wearing it so everyone would see his prize.
Red Riding Hood. The infamous huntress, killer of wolves—though Winter should thank her for a few of them.
A couple of the bastards were pains in his ass, but she would still answer for her actions.
The only one allowed to murder his fellow wolves was him—and his father, though with any luck, the king would soon die of infection.
What he hadn’t expected was that Red Riding Hood was the same girl he’d set free years ago.
He should’ve expected her hatred to grow, for it to twist into something more.
But with how many humans hated the wolves and how the hunters had been around for centuries, he hadn’t worried about her poor archery skills.
It had never crossed his mind that she would’ve become a great huntress, especially not without her grandmother around to show her the ropes.
He was foolish for helping her then. Even more so now for not having murdered her outright.
Still, any compassion he might’ve felt for her before was gone the moment he discovered she was Red Riding Hood.
Dragging in a deep breath, Winter committed Sterling’s scent to memory.
The apple was mixed with the heady scent of her arousal.
He wondered what she would’ve looked like as she came, what her moans would’ve sounded like if he hadn’t interrupted her private moment.
It had been far too enjoyable to toy with her though, to rip away the orgasm she was about to have and embarrass her before revealing that he knew who she truly was.
He folded the cloak, the thin fabric easy to condense into a tight square and tuck inside his tunic. With slow, purposeful movements, Winter stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
A chicken squawked at the sight of him and raced off to the other side of the small yard.
Villagers had made it back to this part of town now, their somber moods palpable.
An older couple glanced over and rushed inside their measly home across the road.
A quick sniff of the air confirmed Sterling had gone right.
Winter instead turned left and whistled, the song deep and slow, as he meandered back the way he’d come. Away from Sterling and toward something more important—leverage.
Soon, the houses turned to shops and he was back in the main marketplace, only a few turns away from the town square where the wolves still hung in warning.
Humans avoided the prince, and he waved to a young girl who peeked at him from a shop window, which sent her tumbling backward. He chuckled to himself as she screamed for her mother.
Behind him, Winter saw hints of his pack members slinking through alleys.
Flashes of movement came from rooftops where Lijah and a few more wolves kept an aerial view.
There was no chance he would lose Sterling.
Even if he did, he knew who she was now and had an idea of what would motivate her.
Knew where she lived, where she worked. She had a brother who wasn’t at home, which meant he was likely at their meat shop.
She wouldn’t abandon all that and leave her entire life behind.
Red Riding Hood was a hunter with a vendetta.
And now, so was he.
Bael gave a sharp whistle, drawing Winter’s attention. The prince peeked up at the roof of the building across the street, and his packmate pointed to the meat shop two doors down.
Winter focused on the red door, a pig painted at its center, and edged closer to it. He paused with his hand on the knob, listening for a moment, his lips curling up at the edges. Perfect.
“Your sister asked you to help,” a man said from a back room as Winter slinked inside the shop. It smelled gamey with a metallic tang of blood alongside the stark scent of cleaner. “So let’s try to get this done.”
“All right,” a younger voice—Cyan—groaned.
The man sighed. “I understand how much you hate it, but Sterling needs you to do it. Finish your paper … whatever that is … while I help the new customer, then I’m putting you to work.”
Winter strolled further into the shop, his gaze sweeping across his surroundings. A glass case displayed fresh meat, and links of sausage hung in strands behind the counter. He picked a pig snout up from a shallow basket and casually rolled it in his hand. Did people actually eat these?
“Sorry for the wait. How can I help—”
Winter slowly shifted his gaze to the man, watching him from the corners of his eyes.
The brown-haired man was the bodyguard at one of the brothels Winter frequented, but he was here now…
The color drained from the man’s face as he stood in the doorway, wringing his hands around a white cloth.
Pathetic. But even the most pitiful human had their uses.
The man cleared his throat, seeming to remember he needed to do something other than gawk, and took another step toward the counter. “How can I help you, Your Highness? Those pig snouts are on sale right now.”
Tossing the snout back into the basket, Winter leaned with his elbows against the glass. “I’m in the market for something a little more exclusive.”
He shuffled backward. “I … I have some fresh tenderloins in the—”
“What’s your name?” Winter drawled, letting his canines sharpen.
“Nareth,” he whispered.
“Nareth.” Claws extended from Winter’s fingertips, and he dragged them along the glass. The human winced at the sharp sound. “Do you know Sterling?”
The answer was clear—he’d heard him mention her a moment ago and he was working in her shop. But he wanted to see if the man would lie. It would decide how far Winter would go in a few moments.
“Sterling?” Nareth inched sideways to position his body in front of the door. “She … works here.”
A half-truth. She didn’t just work there but owned the shop. “Handles meat well, does she?” he asked, lazily flicking his gaze up and down the human. Without a doubt, he’d fucked the little traitor before, but not enough to satisfy her, it seemed. “What small amount there appears to be.”
A flicker of defiance raced through Nareth’s eyes, though Winter wasn’t sure if he’d quite understood the insult. “If you’re looking for something that’s not in the display, I can cut you something from the back.”
The prince stared at him, the edges of his mouth turning upward. “We both know I get the finest cuts of meat from my own butcher. Just like we both know why I’m really here.”
“Sterling isn’t in right now,” Nareth replied, his eyes narrowing. Wood creaked in the room behind Nareth—a chair perhaps, or a floorboard—and he winced.
“Oh, I know. I would’ve smelled her,” Winter said with certainty. “At the moment, I’m looking for someone else.”
“Me? I’ve been working here all day.”
“I’m well aware you weren’t at the hanging.” Winter removed his claws from the glass and pretended to examine their sharp tips. “Besides, I’m searching for someone much younger.”
Nareth’s throat bobbed before he opened his mouth as if he were going to deny something. Instead, he withdrew his hand from his apron pocket and flung salt in Winter’s face. “Cyan, run!”
Winter hissed as the salt hit his eyes. His wolf scratched at the surface of his body, eager to slaughter. But the wolf didn’t speak. Winter wasn’t finished with this human yet, and he still needed his voice.
There were questions he would ask as he beat the shit out of him.
Winter barely dodged Nareth’s punch, and fury stormed in his veins.
Eyes still burning, Winter lunged toward Nareth.
His shoulder rammed into the man’s chest, knocking him backward into the second room.
A long table covered in various meats toppled over and small wads of paper flew into the air.
The younger boy shrieked while hunkering behind the fallen furniture.
Winter stood tall, barely containing his inner wolf, as he strode into the room. Nareth scrambled to get back on his feet but slipped in blood that seeped onto the floor from the meat. It didn’t matter if he was standing or not—Winter would always win.
He grabbed Nareth by the shirt and hauled him up. Fists flew at the prince, each easily blocked.
Winter hurled Nareth back into the main shop and rounded on the child. His wide eyes peeked over the table with tears streaming down his face. “Stay,” Winter ordered. “If you move in the slightest, I’ll kill you both.”
That wasn’t entirely true, of course. He needed the child to make Sterling suffer before she came to him.
Later? Anything was possible. Children eventually turned into adults, and adults were capable of revenge.
Once Winter murdered Sterling, it was entirely possible her brother would seek to avenge her at some point.
Just like Sterling was avenging her grandmother.
With his warning in place, the prince rounded slowly on Nareth. The lowly human had landed across the shop, knocking into a shelf lined with dried spices. Nareth snatched one of the glass jars and chucked it at the prince.
“Stay away from him,” he growled at Winter. “He hasn’t done anything.”
“Everyone has done something.” Winter prowled forward and crouched in front of him.
His clawed fingers wrapped around Nareth’s throat hard enough to draw blood but not to restrict his airway.
“And the way you’re acting now makes me think you’ve done something very”—he tightened his grip slightly—“very bad.”
Nareth grabbed his arm, digging his fingers in. He pulled and pushed at Winter to no avail. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”